


Barely a Fairytale

by ghostwriterly



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-Samwell AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 00:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13939149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwriterly/pseuds/ghostwriterly
Summary: Ten years after he left Samwell, Derek Nurse is winning in all the ways that don't really matter, chasing happiness and never quite succeeding. Having exhausted all other avenues but one, he heads north, to Maine, where he finds a very different Will Poindexter, but also, maybe, his heart.





	1. Chapter 1

Derek Nurse stood in the shadowed entryway of the bar, body and mind flung ten years into the past, nerves washing over him in waves of euphoria-tinged panic.

The man across the room, calming filling glass mugs from a tap, was somehow exactly the same and wholly different. Not the hair though—the hair shone like a copper penny in the mirror behind the bar, and it was that hair, paired with a well-worn flannel shirt, that gave Derek the push he needed to step into the light.

The bar was called _O’Malley’s,_ and it smelled faintly of fish, and the sea that lay just beyond its doorway, but not unpleasantly so. It was dim lights and rich colors and dark-stained wood floors, the big flatscreens in the corners tuned to hockey (of course, what else?). It was also warm, and it was that warmth (and the ruggedly handsome man behind the bar) that propelled Derek across the wide-planked oak.

There was a familiarity in this, in making the first move, and the thought made Derek’s stomach churn with another fit of nerves.

 He slid onto a stool near the end (close enough to the door to make a cowardly retreat if such an exit became warranted), and out of the brightest light; Will wasn’t the only one who had changed.

Twice he came close, passing a filled mug to one patron, and ribbing another about a blind date gone bad; but he never came near enough to notice the man watching him from the corner stool. Never came near enough for Derek to say his name, or form a chirp.

He could still slip out the door. Abandon this (probably) ill-advised urge, to poke old bears and watch them waken.

“Nurse?”

The voice was deeper, but still so much the same it cut through Derek like a knife.

“Will.” There was a split second in which Derek thought he might turn tail and run, although it could have been a trick of the light, the emotions flashing in Will’s amber eyes. He wasn’t going to let that happen, though. It was why he was here.

“Jesus.” Will raked one hand across his mouth, his jaw firm with clenched teeth, before he thrust his arm over the bar. “What the hell, Nurse?”

Derek clasped his work-worn hand, trying to memorize the mournfully foreign texture before the brief contact was gone. He shrugged with a half smile. “I was in the neighborhood.”

…

They sat at a corner booth, a girl who looked far too young to tend bar taking Will’s place in front of the taps.

“In the neighborhood, huh?” Will threw back a shot of tequila, and then chased it with his beer.

“I mean, no?” Derek chuckled, toying with his own shot glass, the pale liquid sloshing over the rim and covering his fingertips. “And you? What the fuck, man? Why are you here?” Derek winced, the words freed before he had a chance to tame them.

Will’s gaze was even when he met his eyes. “My family needed me here, Nurse. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“I don’t.” Derek shot back, but the remorse caught up to him, stronger this time. Maybe it was the sense of urgency, coaxing his mouth so liquid and loose, feelings and memories and the past seeping from his very pores. “I’m sorry,” he rushed to add. “I don’t mean that.”

Will’s face relaxed. “Yeah you do, asshole. But it’s fine. Like I said, I did what I had to do. With my dad gone…” He cut off with a shrug.

“But this? A bar?” Derek looked around the small pub. Quaint, yes. Quintessentially _Dex_? Yes. But _Will?_ Not in a million years. The Will that had built Derek a bed with his own hands, with fucking _drawers_ underneath for all his ‘ _hipster sweaters’_ — _that_ Will Derek had been sure could move mountains, had graduated from Samwell with a degree in electrical engineering.

That Will wasn’t a bartender.

Will shrugged and threw back the last of his beer. “It’s a living.”

...

They shouldn’t fall into bed together. They shouldn’t, they shouldn’t they shouldn’t—and yet Derek knew, the moment he followed him into the Jeep, that’s exactly where they would land. Where they had always landed. Wrapped around and up and into each other, almost from the moment they had met. If they weren’t fighting they were making love and there was barely a blip of memory, for him, of anything in between.

The heat washed over him then, in the darkness in the cab of the truck, the way Will’s skin smelled, fresh out of shower, smooth and red from the hot needlepoints of water. He tasted like autumn, always tinged with something evasively familiar, something Derek had never found in anyone else. And God, had he tried.

The breadth of Will’s shoulders was _more_ , age and manual labor having increased them beyond what collegiate hockey had naturally enhanced. The taper of his hips was still just as narrow, though, his abs just as flat, and his hands just as large. Those hands were steady when he unlocked his front door and gestured Derek inside, although there was the slightest tremble when they gently cupped his jaw and kissed him for the first time, there in the tiny foyer.

Derek fell. Fell long and swift and hard. Fell into the abyss of remembered emotions and heartache, into the longing that had plagued him for the past ten years.

“Will, wait,” he whispered, his hands at odds with his words, as they tugged a flannel to the floor and unerringly found purchase on the buttons of Will’s fly.

“Tomorrow.”

It was succinct, and honestly who the fuck cared about emotions at this point.

Derek had waited a long time, spent many an empty night thinking about this, about never having it again, about how they screwed it up and how to fix it, how to go back, or forward, and _Christ_. He was so tired. So, _so_ tired of fighting the urge to drive north and stake his claim, and no. Yes. _Fuck_. Maybe tomorrow was soon enough.

He let Will drag him upstairs and see him to the stars.

…

“I don’t even want to guess how much that shirt cost,” Will teased, his lips at the hollow of Derek’s throat.

“It was thrifted, dickhead.” And his favorite, but the shredded ruins of it was a good memory now, too.  

Will snickered. “Of course it was.”

Derek flipped to his side and slid a knee between Will’s thighs, an arm around his waist. He shivered. “M’cold.”

Will kissed the corner of his mouth. “Pansy.”

They studied each other in the quiet moonlight.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Derek asked, waiting for the no. For the punch to the gut of rejection and sorrow that had always lingered between them, waiting ‘round the bend.

“Not especially.” Will kissed him again, surprisingly soft against his lips. “Everything is easier over waffles.” He wrapped around Derek, warm and strong and comfortable.

“Waffles, eh?” Derek mumbled, confused by this unforeseen turn of events, by the not so subtle invitation to stay—not even an invitation. An understanding. An expectation. It hit him exactly where it hurt, anyway. “Since when do you cook?”

“Since I grew up.” Will reached down to drag a faded floral quilt over the both of them. “You’re staying, right?” He finally asked. His fluttering eyelids and easy, soft breathing almost doing Derek in for good. A happy, satiated, snuggly Will was basically a fairytale.

“For waffles? Hell yeah.”

Derek watched Will’s smile until it faded with sleep, and then watched him still, memorizing, in case whatever came next was, again, the end.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the sun that woke Derek first, although maybe there had been words, soft and low at his ear, pressed into the skin of his temple.

He was alone by the time he forced his eyes open, the small bedroom empty and so bright he blinked against the whiteness of the curtains and the sheets. He stretched, back cracking, knuckles grazing the headboard behind him before leaning up on an elbow to survey the room.

It was homey, for lack of a better description, and painfully neat. White lace graced the twin multi-paned windows, and a simple dresser rested between them, the finish an obvious mate to the bed. They looked old but well-cared for, and Derek wondered if they were antiques. Family pieces, maybe, although other than an assortment of siblings, Derek didn’t know much about Will’s family history.

The closet door was open, and it too was old-fashioned, a glass knob instead of brass, six panels in the wood instead of flush. Several shirts hung inside, and at least one suit bag, a heavy coat, and four pair of shoes and boots lined precisely underneath. He felt a well of affection at the precision and the domesticity and tried, fiercely, not to want.

They had been in love, once.

It felt like so long ago, but Derek had lived with the persistent, steady ache long enough to know it had been true. It was the hole at his left side, from his left hand, and in his bed that still echoed as their epilogue.

He had once been so blinded by the possibilities of the future, naïve enough to think he might have exactly this, this bedroom, this sweet little house. Took for granted that he would always have Will. He wondered if that had been their undoing, eventually. Will had always been a provider, always felt tethered to his old life, to home, in ways Derek had never really understood, although he could admit now that he had never really tried, either. Never thought he had to.

After everything went pear-shaped, on the surface they were still friendly, right up through graduation and the scant few years beyond in which everyone kept track, kept in touch. One by one they grew apart and faded, life taking them away for days and weeks and months, then years, messages and phone calls and visits becoming scarcer until Derek no longer had to hide that fact that Will hadn’t spoken to him, _really_ spoken to him, since Samwell. They just assumed.

He let them.

He had heard, of course, how he was doing, where he had gone. So desperate for any scrap of information, his prodding for details from Bits and Chow (the only two he had spoken to in years), now something of an art form. Bitty had once encouraged him to venture north. Derek had laughed it off, too afraid of what he would find on arrival. Unwilling to completely cut his heart out if somehow faced with a married William Poindexter, father of three. 

It wasn’t so farfetched, as it turned out. Will had been engaged once.

Derek only knew this because a friend of a sister of a friend grew up with the girl Will found worthy enough to get down on one knee for.

He had been at an art show opening, a pretentious as fuck gathering of the sort of people Will would hate. This girl was an anomaly, and she and Derek had found each other over a shared bowl of melon balls drenched in champagne (disgusting, as it were). Their conversation had wound around their backgrounds and interests and shared acquaintances, as conversations with strangers do, until the Samwell connection had been cemented. She must not have noticed Derek’s frozen expression when she pronounced a summer wedding was forthcoming for his former teammate and her former sorority sister.

Derek had had to excuse himself after that.

He had gotten drunk alone in his apartment, flipping through his Samwell journals and photos and feeling like an absolute train wreck of an adult, like he was a hundred years old and his life had disappeared while he was chasing the minutiae. 

It had been a turning point, the catalyst for the article that would be his legacy, or at least the legacy he would use to jumpstart the remainder of his career. There had been Pulitzer buzz, quite a lot of it, and although he didn’t win, his name did have a new and substantial leverage.

He still had the original, handwritten version, the tear-stained, painful scribblings of a broken man. He had framed it and hung it in his guest bedroom. Since his sister Miriam was the only one who ever stayed with him, he considered it the safest place. He could never get rid of it, and yet no one should ever see it. No one who wouldn’t understand.

Miri did…although she refused to sleep with it on the wall. When she came to stay, she tucked it into the closet and rehung it when she left. She said it was like staring directly into Derek’s heart and head, and it left her too unsettled to sleep.

Miri had driven straight through, that night he found out about Will’s engagement, and then stayed for a week. Making sure Derek ate and slept and wore clean clothes and walked in the fresh air. Lived.

She was the only person who knew Derek had come to Maine.

He thought about texting her, knew she would be waiting, but he was still wobbly and unsure. Still had no fucking idea what he was doing.

He sat up and inhaled. _Waffles._ Maybe bacon too. And while a quickly-imagined scene of Will feeding him breakfast in bed was tempting, he craved more of this simple domesticity, of Will in the kitchen, barefoot and sleepworn, those big hands making breakfast. Making _Derek_ breakfast.

It would hurt, but Derek had been hurting, and he needed those visuals like he needed air.

He climbed from the bed.

…

“C’ _mon_ , Will. He’s thirty, not eighty.”

“And he’s been married before and has a kid.” Will neatly flipped a pancake on the griddle with one hand.

“Hello!” His youngest sister Pippa waved exaggeratedly in the direction of the baby on Will’s hip.

Will kissed the baby’s head, bouncing her once and making her laugh, her shiny wet lips stretched wide in a gummy smile. “He’s not good enough for you, and he’s certainly not good enough for Beth.”

“Ugh, you’re _infuriating._ ”

“Mmm,” Will hummed, unconcerned, transferring the pancake to a plate on the counter before passing it to Pippa. “Eat your breakfast, squirt.”

Pippa rolled her eyes, but took the food, slathering butter and syrup all over the stack. “Do you want me to take her?”

“Nope.” Will jiggled the baby again, pouring the next round of pancakes. He sighed when the back door slammed.

“Will!” The toddler called, although it came out more like _Wiwwww._

He turned away from the griddle just in time to catch twenty-five pounds of two year old at the knees. “Hey little man, what’s shakin?” He handed the boy a piece of bacon, glancing up just in time to see his sister Megan trip over her son’s discarded coat.

“Fuck,” she scowled, reaching down to swipe up the jacket.

“Fuck!” Liam crowed, cramming half the bacon in all at once.

 Will patted Liam’s head and pushed him toward Pippa. “Go sit by Aunty Pip, little man, and Uncle Will’ll make some Mickey pancakes.”

“Twain!” Liam replied, arms pumping in an exaggerated running stance as he beelined for the little wooden train set Will kept in the living room.

“Liam Joseph, you get your diapered butt back to the table!” Meg yelled half-heartedly.

“Butt!” Liam’s little voice echoed down the empty hall.

Meg dropped into a chair and peeled off her hat. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“Night shift?” Will gave her a plate of pancakes and bacon, then squeezed her shoulder. Megan was a pottery artist, and shared a kiln-space with several others a few miles south in Deer Isle. After Liam was born, she did much of her work in the middle of the night, as inspiration struck (and her husband was home with the baby).

“Yes, although that heifer Alice Sinclair was there ahead of me and hogged the entire top shelf.” Meg viciously cut into her pancake into fourths, shoving one large triangle in her mouth.

“Go back this afternoon, when it’s quieter,” Will poured her a glass of juice, and then one for Pippa. “Leems, come get your juice!” He dug through the cabinet next to the sink for a sippy cup. He wasn’t even surprised when the back door slammed open again; his swore his sisters shared some kind of psychic connection. They had probably honed in on the fact he had had an overnight guest. (He sent up a small prayer for Derek’s mental health.)

“Jesus, what the hell’s with the cold?” Elise was the eldest girl, just three years younger than Will, and probably his best friend. Which was saying something; growing up they had each thought the other was an alien. 

“Maine!” Chorused the younger Poindexter sisters, together.

“Shut up,” Elise rolled her eyes and turned toward Will. “Coffee?” She pleaded, batting her eyes.

“You look tired,” Will frowned, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“I didn’t get a kiss,” Pippa pouted. “And I brought a baby.”

“Hey!” Meg kicked her under the table. “I brought a baby.”

“No, you brought a tiny redheaded monster, there’s a difference.”

A monster who had been suspiciously quiet, Will thought. “Leems! Juice!”

When he passed Elise her coffee (two Splenda’s and a dollop of cream), he froze; her eyes were wide, caught on something behind him. His stomach fluttered nervously as he turned to face the music.

Derek stood in the kitchen doorway, his handsome face guarded, wearing a pair of Will’s sweatpants and an old Samwell Men’s Hockey tee. He looked good enough to eat, frankly, and Will had to swallow twice before he could speak. “Morning, sunshine.” He slid Beth to his other hip and gestured toward the table. “Pancakes or waffles?”

“Waffles? You didn’t tell me there were waffles,” Pippa frowned. “Ow!” She stuck her tongue out at Meg, whose had always had acutely precise under-table aim.

“Uh, morning.” Derek jumped when Liam shoved between him and the doorjamb. His eyes were still cautious when they met Will’s. “I didn’t mean to, um, interrupt.”

“You’re not.” Will sighed the sigh of caretaker brothers everywhere. “It’s always a nuthouse around here.” He jabbed his chin in the direction of the table. “Not a one of ‘em can cook worth a damn.”

“Damn!” Liam echoed, climbing onto the chair beside his mother.

“That’s a bald-faced lie William Joseph Poindexter, and you know it,” Meg pointed a syrupy fork in his direction.

“And yet, here we are,” he stared pointedly at her plate, before turning back to the task at hand. “So. Introductions or waffles?”

“Waffles,” Derek said at same time as Pippa’s “Introductions!”

Derek shuffled in the doorway.

“Pip, scoot over and stop ogling the guest.” Will gestured with a spatula. “Derek—Pippa, Meg, and,” he pointed behind him at the sink. “Elise.” He poured mouse ears on the pancake on the griddle. “And the one with the potty mouth is Liam.”

“My pride and joy,” Meg grinned.

“Of course,” Derek nodded, cautiously sliding into the empty chair beside Pippa. “I’ve met you all before, when you were just…” He trailed off, biting his lip. All he could remember of the Poindexter siblings at graduation was flying red braids and miles of freckles. “Little things,” he finished weakly.

“We grew up,” Pippa shrugged. “And that one,” she pointed at Will’s hip. “Is mine. Elizabeth William Poindexter.”

“She wanted to call her Willie but I put my foot down,” Will threw a grin over his shoulder, relaxing when he saw that most of the terror had faded from Derek’s eyes. “This is Beth, and Uncle Will is her favorite.” He nuzzled the baby’s strawberry blonde curls.

“Pshh,” Elise shushed him, trying to take the baby from him. Beth pushed her away, emphatically shaking her head _no._

“Aunty ‘Lis is a bad no no, isn’t she baby girl?” Will crooned, laughing when Elise socked him in the shoulder.

“You’re such a shit.” She took a seat at the table, between Liam and Pippa, and poured herself a glass of juice. She glanced at Derek, still twitchy in his chair. “So, Derek, right?” She was smiling, but her gaze was sharp.

“Yeah, Nurse. Derek Nurse.”

“Wait a minute,” Pippa murmured, eyes narrowing on Derek’s face. “ _The_ Derek Nurse? New Yorker Derek Nurse? _Pulitzer Prize—”_

“Shut up, Pip,” Will cut her off. “His head’s already so big he won’t fit through the door.” He set a plate of waffles in front of Derek with a quick wink.

“His head, huh?” Meg muttered. “Bet that’s not all that’s—”

Will flicked her in the back of the head. “Ignore all of them, Nurse. Pip, pass the bacon.” He settled the baby on his lap as he squeezed in around the small table between Derek and Meg, then dug into his breakfast.

Derek had yet to take a bite, but he relaxed when Will pressed their knees together under the table, a reassuring column of heat.

Around him, the laughter and bickering continued, snippets of half-finished conversations about people he didn’t know and places he hadn’t been, tidbits of gossip and a healthy dose of teasing directed wholeheartedly at Will—which he took with more cool composure than Derek could ever remember _Dex_ displaying as a Samwell undergrad.

The girls didn’t pry, never once asked for details about Derek’s presence in their brother’s space, wearing what were obviously his clothes, and having clearly spent the night. But Derek could feel their eyes on him when he wasn’t looking, the curiosity a steady and persistent hum coloring the happy atmosphere in the kitchen.

When breakfast was over, they made quick work of the dishes, shoving Will back into his chair when he tried to help, and giving both men a second cup of coffee.

“Leems, give Uncle Will a kiss.” Will tried to catch the small boy as he ran by, back to his trains.

“No!” Liam shouted, red curls flying.

“He needs a haircut,” Will said wryly, wrinkling his nose with a shrug and patting Beth’s back as she snuggled in for a sleep.

Derek was utterly charmed. Also disoriented and confused—but an alarmingly quick affection eclipsed everything else. This Will Poindexter was an enigma and he was having a hard time parsing him into place.  

Will bumped his knee under the table. _Tap tap._

Derek bumped back.

“Okay boys, kitchen is clean and I have class.” Pippa took Beth, wrapping a warm blanket around her and dropping a kiss to Will’s head. She winked at Derek. “Derek, good to see you again.”

Derek stood and reached for her hand, causing all three sisters to exchange amused glances. “You too.”

“I suppose that’s our cue too,” Meg sighed. “Let me go grab the monster.”

Will twisted his mouth, considering Elise by the sink. “And you? Any particular reason you dropped by this morning?” Although the other two were frequent breakfast companions, Elise was usually too busy. She was an environmental lawyer and kept an office downtown.

Elise shrugged, her eyes shifting to her perfectly manicured nails. “Oh, no reason.”

“Liar.” Will stood, his posture menacing when he took a step in her direction.

“Stop!” Elise giggled, throwing up her hands to ward him off. “Okay, okay. Plumb Jackson told Miss Ida that you brought someone home from the bar last night.”

Will crossed his arms. “And?”

Elise blushed, her cheeks tinting her freckles a pretty pink. “And…Miss Ida sent her niece Jenny over to the diner first thing to see if anyone had the scoop.” She shrugged. “I was picking up coffee and pastries.”

“Elise Poindexter, I’m ashamed of you,” Will tutted under his breath. “And I suppose you’re on your way right back down to Ella’s, aren’t you. To fill everyone in.”

Elise squirmed as Meg cackled. “Ooh if Miss Ida knows, err’body knows.” She slapped Will on the back. “Rip.” She grunted when Liam squirmed in her arms. “And, I’m off.” She lifted her cheek for a kiss, and a frowning Will obliged.

“You’re all terrible sisters. You know that, right?”

“Bye Wiww,” Liam said sadly, passing him his train car.

“Bye little man.” Will zipped his jacket. “Come back tomorrow and I’ll make cheese omelet.”

“Cheese!” Liam grinned.

Will held the door for them, smacking Elise on the backside with a stern look, and stealing one last kiss from a sleeping baby Beth, and then, finally, the kitchen was quiet. When he turned to the last occupant, the light shifted, bouncing off the pale cobblestones and the bay beyond the window, bathing Derek in gold. Will had to take a second to catch his breath. “So,” he said, shoving his hands deep into the front pockets of his jeans.

Derek stared at him, so incredibly handsome, as broad as a fucking barn and solid as a rock, his marble carved exterior a complete and total façade. That stony expression hid a marshmallow interior. Derek’s pulse kicked up, so erratic he wondered briefly if he was having a heart attack. “So.”

Will glanced around the room, mouth pursed as he considered his words. When his eyes met Derek’s they were hot—blazingly so. “Are you staying?”

“Yes.” The word was out before Derek even had a chance to consider it. Yes, he was staying.

Yes.

Will smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

 

**_Miri:_ ** _So? How’d it go?_

Derek tried to thumb open his phone to answer, a feat that was a little hard to manage while someone was systematically removing every last article of clothing from his body. “Will, we’re in the middle of the living room.”

“It’s okay. I know the guy that lives here.” This was mumbled around a fairly meaty chunk of Derek’s neck.

Derek snorted. “Yeah? And he won’t mind my bare ass on his leather sofa?”

Will straightened with a grin. “He would _love_ your bare ass on his leather sofa.” To accentuate his enthusiasm, he tugged the Samwell tee over Derek’s ears in one fluid motion, sighing as he ran the back of his knuckles down his torso. “God, I missed you.”

Overcome, Derek grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him, wincing when their teeth knocked together. “Sorry,” he whispered. His head was spinning.

Will’s hands roamed, mesmerizing and warm. “For what?”

Derek had meant _sorry for attacking your mouth,_ but maybe this was the opening he had come for, had been waiting for. Maybe he wouldn’t get another. “For everything.”

Not the most eloquent apology of his life, even if it was true.

Will stilled, but his hands remained locked on Derek’s hips. “Derek—”

 Derek shook his head. “Don’t tell me I shouldn’t be or that I’m wrong. I’m not wrong. You know that.”

Will brought one of Derek’s tightly clenched fists to his mouth and held it there, eyes closed, before lowering it and carefully prying the fingers loose. “I’ve thought about this for a long time,” he murmured.

“About my apology?” Derek’s chest hurt; Will’s touch was gentle and soft, not all that different from the way he had handled the baby during breakfast. 

“No, about mine.” Will’s eyes were solemn and lovely when they met Derek’s. “Mostly I’m sorry that I can’t do this.”

For one dark, terrifying moment Derek thought that this was it, that he was being dismissed, again, that Will didn’t want him anymore. That he never really had. His resignation must have shown on his face because Will tugged him close and nuzzled his temple, breathing in deep.

“I’m sorry that I can’t ravage you on my nice clean sofa and then merrily send you back to New York.”

It took a quiet beat for Derek’s ears to catch up over his frantically beating heart. “What do you mean?” He swallowed convulsively. “I said I was staying.”

“I know you did.” So gentle, Derek thought, as Will kissed him and sighed again. “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

“You’re married?” Derek teased weakly, leaning heavily into Will’s chest, letting him support his weight. His legs were like jelly.

Will chuckled and tucked Derek’s hand into one of his before he began to sway. It was a slow dance, moving in place to a silent tune. “I’ve always been married, D.” He squeezed his hand then, shuffling them slowly in a circle. “In my head, in my heart.” He nuzzled his hairline again, lips trailing across his cheekbone. “My mouth, my hands, my body.” Each word was punctuated with a slight movement; a palm squeezed, a waist pulled closer. “My everything.”

“What are you saying?” Derek’s face was burning, he was burning. Will was the sun.

Will leaned back to look him in the eye. “I’m saying I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since I was eighteen years old, Derek Nurse. And I’m sorry I’ve been such an absent, ignorant prick for the better part of a decade.”

It was a landslide, the effect Will’s words had on Derek. Hope and joy and the sadness of lost time, the bitterness of miscommunication. The years of regret. And all he had as repayment was this, but maybe one day, too, his words.

In that moment, with a leather couch as his confessional, he let open his heart and spoke the vow that had been the pounding rhythm of his existence for ten long years.

“I love you.”

Will blinked, sexy and slow, his mouth spread wide in a grin. “Awesome.”

Derek snorted; so much for tender moments for which he might one day form a sonnet. “Awesome,” he echoed.

Will spun them around, nudging Derek toward the sofa. “So… Are you busy?”

“Uhhh,” Derek licked his lips, the mouth on his throat making it hard to squeak out an answer. “You mean right now?” He moaned when Will sucked a sliver of skin between his teeth. “Holy _fuck_.”

Will straightened with a smile. “That’s the idea.”

“God I hope that means you have priests robes lying around,” Derek exhaled, breath stumbling over indrawn breath.

Will’s laughter was bright and shiny, a new penny, a new day. “Not today, you heathen,” he grinned before yanking Derek’s jeans and boxers to his knees. “Now let’s get naked.”

This, they were good at, Derek thought. So, so good. The tandem rise and fall of their bodies, gasping for air between long, desperate kisses. Big hands finding perfect places, touches that were just the right amount of pressure, just the right amount of speed. The bottle of lube that was stashed close enough to make Derek see red, a flare of jealousy so bright it nearly engulfed them both; the whispered explanation—Will had snuck it into place before breakfast.

This was beautiful and familiar and so incredibly hot Derek thought he might burst into flames—but also so new as to be intriguing. New bodies, aged separate but found again.

There was a moment, seated on Will’s lap, so filled his vision was only stars, where he never wanted to do, or be, or have anything else at all.

There was also _I love you, so fucking much,_ pressed into his skin, his mouth, his heart.

He was in a strange city, a strange house, a different life, more at peace than he had been in years.

Derek was home.

And he never wanted to leave.

…

**_Derek:_ ** _I’m in love._

**_Miri:_ ** _Oh holy shit. You did it. You nailed the redhead._

Derek grinned. _I so fucking did._

…

“How can you need to eat again already? We just had waffles and bacon.”

Will shrugged, his shoulder bumping into Derek’s as he opened the diner’s door. “What can I say? Sex makes me hungry.”

The entire diner froze, Will’s words echoing across the polished linoleum floor.

Derek thought it would be a fine time for said floor to open up and swallow them both. He squeaked when Will pushed him fully inside.

“Mornin’ Midge!” Will called cheerfully, waving at the waitress behind the chrome-lined counter and steering Derek toward a booth right smack in front of street-facing window.

 “Mornin’ Will,” Midge returned, brows raised so high they disappeared beneath her elaborately rolled bangs.

 Will handed Derek one of the menus tucked between the napkin dispenser and a glass container of sugar.

“You did that on purpose,” Derek muttered, cheeks burning.

“What?” Will asked innocently, flipping the menu around to the back, where the breakfast specials were listed.

Derek scowled at him. “Don’t play coy, Poindexter.” Will just batted his eyes, so Derek kicked him under the table. “I mean it,” he whispered ferociously. “You might as well have announced my last two orgasms to the entire goddamn town.”

“Three orgasms,” Will said absently, scanning the offerings _._

“ _Will._ ”

Will lowered the menu and grinned. “What? You spent the night. You look—” He waved a hand in Derek’s general direction. “The way you look. Now there’s no question about whether or not we fucked and no reason for my sisters to play _I Spy_ with my stash of condoms and lube every other morning.”

“Oh my God,” Derek moaned covering his eyes with one hand. “They did _not_ see the lube.”

Will snickered.

Derek kicked him again.

“Ow,” Will laughed, reaching across the table and grabbing one of Derek’s hands. He sighed when Derek’s eyes grew saucer-round. “Look. It’s not like they don’t know I’m gay. They know, D. I like dudes. They’re okay with it.”

“ _They’re_ okay with it?” He whispered. “Since when are _you_ okay with it?” Last he knew, Will was still decidedly undecided about his actual sexuality, half-joking that he was Derek-sexual and even then preferring that fact stay amongst their closest friends.  

“Since I stood at an altar during my wedding rehearsal and realized it had to be you up there with me.”

Derek sucked in a breath, pulse bouncing erratically around his bones. “Will.”

Will squeezed his fingers. “I stopped the practice ceremony and took Madi, the girl I was engaged to, outside to explain.” His expression turned fond as his eyes combed over Derek’s face. “Then I went back inside and faced both of our families, and all of our friends, and came out. Big time.”

“I—” Derek swallowed. “I don’t, I can’t… _Will._ ” He clung to Will’s fingers like a lifeline.

“It was the scariest moment of my life, but you know what?” Will laughed. “It was also the easiest. Because hearing those fake vows, facing someone I knew I would never be happy with, it cemented something I had only let myself imagine in the dark middle of the night.” He leaned forward, resting his chin on his free hand.  “I could finally be me, _really_ me, and everyone else would either have to accept that or get out of my life. Lucky for them, they decided to stay.”

Derek bit his lip. “All of them?” He thought about Will’s dad, who hadn’t been very accepting of Will’s decision to go to Samwell, or to play hockey, or major in engineering—or really do anything that made Will, Will.

Will’s eyes darkened. “Everyone that matters. Dad was already gone, but even if he wasn’t, I wouldn’t change anything.” He straightened and brought Derek’s palm to his mouth, giving it a quick kiss. “Not even today.”

Derek flushed, feeling a goofy smile spread across his face. “You are scaring the shit out of me.”

“Good,” Will grinned, slapping his menu to the table. “Now let’s order so Midge can give you the onceover.” He tucked his tongue in his cheek before adding, “She’ll have to give the lunch crowd all the deets.”


End file.
